Dark Days Exit
by psychedelicavenger
Summary: Charlotte lives in a cottage on the edge of Crystal Lake. Normally when she goes hiking she prefers to stick to the well-trod path, and in future, she will never stray from it again. But she had to learn this the hard way.
1. Dark Water Jazz

**_DISCLAIMER HERE IT COMES OH SHI_- **I own nothing. Neither do you.

**Jenova 7 – Dark Water Jazz**

The woods are lonely, dark and deep. Charlotte learned this the hard way. For the first two days she berated herself nonstop for being so stupid and irresponsible as to venture off the path. The third day it rained and she found a dry spot in the cleft of an old tree where she sat and felt sorry for herself and cried. When the rain stopped and she couldn't cry anymore, she found a few edible mushrooms and berries to hold her through the night. On the fourth day she finished off what was left in her water bottle.

It started out as a simple hike, but the woods can play tricks on you and when they do you won't know it until it's too late.

On the fourth night Charlotte stumbled upon a decrepit barn that looked like it was being absorbed by the forest. It was surrounded by the stench of rot and rain but Charlotte couldn't care less. She found a patch of old hay to sleep on, deciding that if she just kept heading north she would find a town, any town soon enough. All she needed to do was stay in one direction. She was about to go to sleep when she heard howling outside, terrifying her into alertness. She scrambled around the barn for a weapon, which she found in the form of a rusty hammer. Then she stood perfectly still and listened to the noises outside. They were getting closer.

There was barking and snarling and slow, padded steps. Something had smelled her. She would have barricaded the door if it had been in any shape to still be called a door. And then she saw it.

A wolf with shiny silver fur and black eyes came prowling into view. It's teeth were barred in hunger, anticipation for the hunt was writ in its step. Charlotte had never felt fear like this before in her life. Slowly, she raised the hammer above her head, ready to strike at a moment's notice, hoping that she had enough strength left in her not to die in the jaws of an animal. She barred her teeth in a snarl, trying to look as threatening as possible, wrapping and rewrapping her fingers around the hammer. The wolf laid its eyes on her as saliva dribbled messily down its chops.

For the first time since her early childhood, Charlotte prayed.

The wolf advanced slowly at first, its shoulders level, then it charged and Charlotte brought the hammer down. It made a flat, squishy sound against its flank, like dropping a rock in mud. The animal shook off the blow and before she could aim again it yowled and bit her calf. She screamed as she felt each individual tooth pierce muscle and the blood and saliva ran together down her leg. She began swinging furiously at the wolf's skull, uncaring if she hammered its teeth into her bones, she was determined to kill this wolf.

She managed to beat it over the head enough to confuse it; it released her leg and stumbled left. Her vision clouded with tears, Charlotte raised the bloody hammer over her head a final time, ready. The wolf growled haltingly and shook its head from side to side. It opened its mouth to bite again but before it got close enough Charlotte brought the hammer down. It's skull cracked with an ugly noise and it fell before her, skidding to a halt. Charlotte began crying in earnest, dropping the hammer before falling to the floor herself, mumbling apologies to nothing in particular.

Her leg couldn't be broken, but she was in excruciating pain that she hadn't noticed until now. The khaki cargo pants she was wearing were torn to shreds and bloody, the mere sight of it made her feel nauseous. Spastic in her hysteria, she tore off the bloody pieces and a strip from the other leg to use as a bandage. Then she sat right where she was and cried, eventually dragging herself over to the bed of hay where she slept like a rock until early morning.

When she woke up, light headed from hunger, she debated picking the wolf clean, but this idea disgusted her. And upon closer inspection the wolf had very little meat on him. He was old and hungry, probably exiled by his pack. There was no food or water in the barn either, so she relied on berries and a few nuts to keep her going. She found a walking stick that she relied heavily on the entire day. By nightfall, she still had not found a road, she still had not found any water or any substantial food, and she felt hopeless.

She was exhausted in every physical form, yet she still found the frustration and anger enough to throw her walking stick to the ground and beat her fists against a tree. Her strength, both mental and physical, was completely diminished, she felt demoralized and this forest was never-ending. She forced herself not to cry again and dehydrate herself further. She also tried not to think about a tall, cool glass of water, because she was dangerously close to forgetting all dignity and drinking her own pee. She hoped with every ounce of stubbornness she had that she wouldn't have to do that.

Her mouth had never felt so dry, she couldn't even lick her lips without them cracking and bleeding. There was a layer of grime coating her aching skin and she had probably lost weight. Without a doubt, actually, because her pants were just barely hanging on her hip bones when they had fit quite snugly when she put them on. She wouldn't allow herself to think once of a shower.

Charlotte gradually began to sense that she was not alone. Her companion in the dark did not share the hunger and desperation of the wolf, it didn't make any noise at all. Every living being makes noise. Charlotte thought she knew what terror was, but she was mistaken. She had a very real fear of death when she chanced a look around.

From the stories, from the legends, from the tragedy fifty years past, Jason watched her from a very short distance away. She had never heard him coming and if he had not stopped to watch her little outburst she wouldn't have even been aware when he sliced her throat. She wouldn't even have known that she died. But she did not die; a hope which she did not bother to cling to.

Her mind was utterly silent when she took in his intimidating stance. His machete was gripped firmly in his hand, tilted to the ground, but this was not the most alarming aspect about him, surprisingly enough. His clothes were tattered and dirt encrusted, holes torn through in several places, some outlined in old, stale, black blood. Very little of his skin was exposed, only his powerful hands, one of which was clasped tightly around the handle of the abused machete, his neck corded with thick ropes of uneven muscle, and the patches of skin showing through the holes in his clothes. And the back of his misshapen skull, the front of which was sealed away behind a battered hockey mask.

The presence before her didn't have to do a single thing to better communicate that she was not welcome. It was a rather cut and dry situation to any objective observer, but she did not beat a wolf to death with a hammer only to be disemboweled by a machete-wielding killer simply for following her survival instinct. Charlotte had no idea that she was already well into Camp Blood territory, she was only trying to get to the road. And now she was going to die for it unless he moved on to other prey, though it was doubtful he would find anyone else at such a huge disadvantage. Her only morbid hope was that he would find her to be too little of a challenge and leave her to hobble through the forest in peace.

He had not moved and neither had she. He could see that she was badly hurt and of no threat to him what so ever, and the mixture of regret and fear pouring from her expressive eyes told him that she was not here on purpose. Still, her very _being _here was as unwelcome an invasion as any. He waited.

She leaned on the tree with her foot in the air behind her so she could raise her hands in the global gesture of surrender. "I'm so sorry," she began thickly, swallowing as much terror away as she could, what with her blood flushing her system with adrenaline at such an unhelpful rate. "I live in town and I know – I _know_ – I shouldn't be here. I never would have come here on purpose, but I've been lost in the woods for a week and I was only trying to find the road..." She lowered one hand to wipe away a stray tear and steady herself on the tree. "I – I would never trespass if I had a choice, even if I had _known _where I was I would have found another way back to town. If you'll just let me pass through, just this once... please... I'm so close and I just want to go home..." The minutes tick past, spurring Charlotte's pleas with the lack of reaction. He seemed to be soaking everything up, like a sponge, listening until it's time to decide.

She released a breath with disturbing finality, as if she were accepting her death before it was even decided upon. Jason holstered his machete and she whimpered, fearing the last sound she would hear was some scream of metal before her neck snapped like a twig in a wet towel. Eternities later, when she was still very much alive she gingerly opened an eye to see that Jason wasn't threatening her with imminent death anymore. He was letting her pass, standing like a statue to let her know that.

Her jaw dropped involuntarily; when this registered in her stunned brain she quickly snapped her teeth together. Without looking away from his masked face, she groped around on the forest floor for her walking stick. As if she wasn't already flooded with uncertain terror, she couldn't draw her eyes from the masked figure of local legend and she also couldn't find her walking stick by groping blindly for it. If she had the energy to scream she would have when Jason suddenly picked up his feet and stomped towards her. She froze, numb with fear.

Jason wanted her out of his territory as fast as possible. She wasn't a threat, she wasn't here to mock him or his mother, and she wanted to leave and never come back. That sounded perfectly fine to him, perfectly agreeable terms which he would gladly accept. But she was too slow. So Jason's boots thudded over the mulchy ground and picked up the stick and held it out for her. She looked at it in numb shock, then looked at Jason, then back to the stick. He shook it a little to make it clear he was giving it to her. She grasped it like she was afraid he would pull it away and watch her fall. "T-thank you," she stuttered. Jason blinked as she adjusted her weight on the stick and hobbled past him, sparing terrified glances his way at times.

Unfortunately, she was headed in the wrong direction. Jason knew this, but Charlotte was so panic-stricken that she no longer cared which direction she went in. However this would only succeed in getting her more lost, and then she would surely die here. So Jason took her by the arm and pointed with his free hand in the right direction. Charlotte was past the point of speech, so she gaped blankly at him, doe-eyed and confused. His grip may have been a little tight, but he wasn't holding her by the throat, so everything was alright. He helped her hop through the trees down an invisible path. His steps were huge, but he kept a slow pace so Charlotte wouldn't drag behind.

She wasn't struggling to keep pace, although moving at anything more than a crawl was taking its toll on her, she wasn't making a fuss. In fact, her blood was pumping with fresh adrenaline, allowing herself to believe that she would make it out of this forest alive. She couldn't wait to see a sky that wasn't cluttered with treetops. She wanted to feel concrete and smell something artificial, anything. She wanted to hear another human voice most of all, though she seriously doubted she would get that from Jason. As soon as the name popped into her head and she became aware of exactly what was happening, she chanced a look at him. He was huge, around a foot taller than her 5'8, which was terrifying in itself. It was difficult to make him out in the dark, but she got a pretty good idea of his dimensions. One of his massive forearms would be the same width as her thigh, probably bigger because she hadn't had half a meal in a week.

All muscle, all bulk and just enough sympathy to take pity on her. She had not seen this coming.

She was led like this for the better part of an hour. When she caught sight of the road through the trees she whimpered in gratitude, almost melting in relief. She wanted to fall to the ground and kiss the cracked concrete. Unable to stop herself, she threw a look of giddy excitement to Jason with a million thank-yous on her lips before she could stop and think. She had a feeling that his actual expression would be just as impassive as the mask. As long as he wasn't feeding her false hope, although it didn't seem like he was. If he wanted to kill her Charlotte had no doubt that he wouldn't have bothered to listen to her explanation. Maybe that _was _why he hadn't killed her. She wondered vaguely if any of his victims had ever tried _talking _to him. Apparently he was a reasonable man, not a mindless psychopathic slaughter machine. At least, not when he didn't want to be. This was as reassuring as it was profoundly confusing, but Charlotte forced herself to focus on the thought of getting to a hospital.

At the road, Jason let her arm go abruptly. She felt the blood rush back to her fingers as she flexed them experimentally. His eyes were heavily shadowed by the mask and the darkness, but she knew he was telling her to leave. This was exactly what she wanted to do. Hastily she readjusted her weight fully on the walking stick and offered Jason a grateful smile that quaked slightly on her lips. He stood stock still to watch her leave. She was about to offer another weak word of thanks as she hobbled away, but Jason raised an arm and pointed in the opposite direction.

She was about to walk off in the wrong direction _again._ But she was too weak to feel like an idiot so she took Jason's silent advice. "Thank you Jason."

She could have sworn his head tilted when he heard his name, as if he had forgotten what it was, but Charlotte wasn't far from hallucinating by now so she brushed it off. She gave him a final weak smile as she turned to walk in the direction he pointed her in. She walked for another half hour before she saw a car. She didn't even have to flag them down.

"Jesus, are you okay lady?" the burly driver asked in disbelief at her condition. One leg elevated and wrapped in a pathetic bloody bandage, her entire body swathed in dirt and sweat, her hair knotted with forest debris. Believe it or not, Charlotte has looked better.

"Can you take me to a hospital?" He shot out of the car to open the door for her and help her in. The shock of sitting in a warm sedan on a cushioned seat was to much and she passed out in bliss. The driver gently woke her in front of the hospital.

"You're gonna be alright," he kept saying, and the nurses and the doctor did too. Charlotte was getting a little sick of hearing it after a few days. The wolf had severed her Achilles tendon, but it wasn't too badly infected. It could be treated with a shot of penicillin. She would have to stay off the leg completely for six weeks and possibly do some physiotherapy afterwards. She was dehydrated, as expected, but not gravely malnourished. Charlotte was thrilled to eat hospital food.

The first thing she did when she left the Fairfield hospital was taking a cab to the parking lot where she left her truck. When she shut the door of the tiny cabin she almost cried, thinking in abstract terror. Her head fell numbly to the steering wheel, accidentally beeping the horn and scaring the daylights out of herself. She finally pulled herself together, rubbed her face for clarity and drove home.

Getting into the truck was easy enough, but getting out, she realized, was an epic struggle. Getting the crutches out ahead of her at such an angle to be able to use them for support both while getting out and then walking was exceedingly difficult to manoeuvre. But as soon as the sound of gravel crunching under her feet reaches her ears she was immediately soothed, realizing for a split second how exhausted she was. The hospital may not be the most restful place. What is a restful place, however, is a Muskoka chair sitting on her deck which she gravitated to like her butt was magnetized to it.

She realized that she had fallen asleep. It was still light outside, so it couldn't have been too long, she reasoned. Sighing heavily, Charlotte forced herself inside. In her bedroom closet she found her emergency cigarettes. This pack was old because she hadn't had a smoke-worthy crisis in years. But this she considered to be worth the carcinogens. She could always beat the tumour away with a hammer. She laughed weakly at her own dark joke. She flopped down on her bed after opening the window and sucked back on the cigarette, savouring the headrush, unable to stop replaying the events of the last two weeks in her mind.

_thoughts? i'd love to hear them._

_xoxo_


	2. Miss Teardrops

_Just for clarity's sake, jason is remake jason._

_For the most part, I thought they did a great job with the remake (I've been watching it and obsessing over Derek Mears' hands) and there was only one real complaint I had. Kind of superficial, but whatever. When Jason is about to kiss the blades of the wood-chipper and Whitney stabs him, after six weeks of being held captive mind you, in any twisted revenge fantasy she may or may not have had the best line she can come up with is "say hi to mommy... in hell". Seriously. I hope she dies in the sequel just for that. I liked her up until those words came out of her mouth. It's really the writers fault, but still, that's just unacceptable. And that is my rant for the day._

_Thanks to Kyuubi123 for the review. The only review, i might add. I know theres more than one of you so come out of the interpipes and let me love you._

**Felix Laband – Miss Teardrop**

It happened entirely by accident. Jason had been checking his traps in vain; the camp was quiet these days, with the summer rush over. He had heard an engine roar one last time before dying out with a grumble. The engine belonged to a chipped green truck on the other end of the lake. There were a few other houses built near the lake and even though they were all spaced out around the huge lake, this one was about as close to Jason's territory as he could feel comfortable with. It had never bothered him before because the house was usually inactive and quiet, even when it was being built several years prior it had never given Jason any cause to worry.

He observed the truck and the figure inside the cabin with minimal interest, simply watching for lack of anything else to do. The door swung open with a rusty creak and a foot dropped down to the gravel. The figure, upon careful inspection, was the injured woman from the week before. It was definitely the same woman, Jason decided, when he saw her struggle to make the transition from sitting to standing on crutches.

She hobbled up the stairs to the patio where she sat down in a Muskoka chair for almost an hour just dozing before she even went inside. When she finally woke up she seemed groggy but refreshed. She went inside briefly, but spent most of the afternoon on the patio reading and napping alternately.

Jason watched her for months.

Some days he would walk to the far end of the lake where he could see her cottage on the other side. The stained pine stilts holding the patio above the slope of the hill and the water; the dock and the orange kayak tied to it; the broad window through which he could see her kitchen quite clearly when the lights were on. He would watch the still house for hours and if he saw her milling about he would watch hours more, fascinated by her tantric solitude. She would drive into town every week, usually Tuesdays, for supplies, but she never once brought people home with her. Most nights, she would play music that wasn't obnoxious or offensive to sensitive palates: jazz or folk or something slow and experimental. The jazz songs were always accompanied by a crackle, a sonic imperfection that textured the music like a well-trod dirt road, an effect which Jason found to be oddly soothing. He liked the way the sounds carried over the lake so he could hear it as clearly as if he were standing right there in the room.

She still had a limp, but it grew less pronounced every time he saw her. One morning in October, she was practising a slow-paced series of movements and stretches (she did this every morning when the sun rose) and must have stepped on her ankle the wrong way because Jason heard her cry of unexpected pain from the other side of the lake. She then hopped to the railing and attempted to stretch out her leg to relieve the pain. He edged closer to the water, as close as he dared go, and caught a glimpse of the winces shooting over her face as she massaged her ankle. Soon she gave up and limped inside where she stayed for the rest of the day, much to Jason's disappointment. He got close and watched her through the kitchen window that day.

He found that she spent most of her time absorbed in a book on the patio. Jason would lament her reading inside when the weather got colder. He liked to watch the flick of her delicate wrists when she turned a page and (when he was close enough) the shadows of emotion that would pass over her face when she would read something to induce them. Every few days or at most a week, she would have a new book and would dive straight into it with the vigour of a child on Christmas morning. Sometimes she would even talk to herself. Little, nonsensical phrases, and she would laugh out loud at her own jokes.

She would commit herself entirely to housework too, and do many difficult and labour-intensive tasks. One day in November, she was up on the roof with a hammer tucked in her belt loops and several nails held in her teeth, looking like a roughneck.

She cut down a tree one day, a tall cedar about two feet thick, with a chainsaw. She cut it into sections and then chopped up the sections into firewood with an axe. There is more strength in her than her body would suggest. Jason watched the wing-like movement of her shoulders as she lifted the axe above her head and swung downwards, repeating the motion a thousand times before she got tired. Then she went in the house for lunch. She came back outside in a different shirt and repeated the chopping process until the entire tree was in workable slices, all of which she then piled in the crawl space under the patio and covering the wood with a giant blue tarp to protect it from rain.

In December the lake began to freeze over in a thin plastic-like film. The first snow had come late this year and it had all but melted away now, leaving a brownish tint of decay in the cold vegetation. The trees drooped and sagged under the snow burdens that had partially melted into icy stones still clinging to their branches.

Jason was never bothered by the snow soaking his boots and the hem of his pants; his body temperature was never warm but it never seemed to drop below a certain point.

This was a great opportunity to clear away the traps for the winter; he didn't want them rusting in the snow. In the early afternoon when the sun was winking through the treetops in the most delightful way, Jason had four bear traps slung over his shoulder. He had made his way to Charlotte's end of the lake and decided to drop them off in the mines before getting the remaining two. But Charlotte suddenly burst from her door and bolted to the dock. Jason was baffled, naturally stopping to stare.

Her leg was long since healed but she still possessed a shadow of a limp. Jason guessed it was permanent now. He wondered how it happened in the first place; she had a makeshift bandage around the wound in the forest where he found her. He didn't even know if it was a bite or a cut. It could have been self inflicted for all he knew, though he doubted that very much. She led a peculiarly healthy lifestyle, like she had her own brand of hermit sustenance. The only unhealthy thing she did was smoke, which Jason deplored. The only consolation was that she didn't do it often. He had only seen her with a cigarette twice in nearly four months.

The weather couldn't have been far from freezing but she was dressed only in a shiny blue bathing suit, sprinting down the dock. She dropped a towel carelessly in her path and dove into the icy water. Panic and confusion gripped him in an inescapable vice when she didn't immediately surface. The water had to be colder than death; he could just imagine its merciless tendrils trapping her and the thought made him queasy. Instinctively, he gripped the handle of his machete.

But when she propelled herself half out of the water with a gleeful shriek she didn't seem to be in any danger. It was silly to think she was when she jumped into the lake quite on purpose, though _why_ she would do this in the middle of December, Jason didn't know, but he did know that she was safe so he felt safe by association... how strange that felt.

She continued to giggle and shriek and even though Jason could hear the chill in her voice she refused to leave the water. Instead she played in it, splashing about and diving under and spitting out fountains of the icy liquid when she surfaced.

Although she was behaving like one she was no child; if Jason had to guess he would say she was older than twenty and younger than forty. Before he could properly acknowledge thoughts for her safety he realized he had no idea _why _he was thinking about her safety at all. He didn't know her. Was it because he saved her life with minimal effort that day? The act of taking her to a road in itself might not constitute saving her life, but sparing it certainly was. He didn't have to let her live, he didn't have to kill her, he didn't even have to acknowledge her existence.

If he had just ignored her and let her wander through the forest in search of civilization she would have succumbed to infection. She would have starved, or been killed by an animal or died from exhaustion or the elements. She could have gotten sick. But it was too late for any hypotheticals to matter, because Jason hadn't let any of those fates become her simply by guiding her to the road and doing very little else.

He spent so long trying to make sense of his concerns that he barely noticed when she finally left the water. The towel she wrapped tightly around herself couldn't have been very warming and she ran straight back inside before she got sick. Jason was almost relieved to see her race back inside to get warm. He stood on the edge of the lake for a long time before readjusting the traps on his shoulder and collecting the final two.

Jason was in the mines, speeding up the rotation of the grindstone. His weapon must be sharp. It must be silent as it cuts through air as well as flesh as well as bone.

His mother's whispers of encouragement and inspiration came less and less frequently until they finally stopped. Jason hadn't heard his mother's guiding voice in years, but he kept his promise to keep Crystal Lake free of filth. He unleashed his vengeance on all who entered the camp – _his _camp – as retribution for his suffering so much cruelty in the very same place. His mother didn't need to tell him that. He knew this for himself, ever since the day he drowned. Sometimes he would hear faint whispers when everything else was silent, but they were incomprehensible to him.

He wondered if he had done something wrong. If he had displeased his mother in some way, though he didn't know how. His behaviour hadn't changed in decades, and the things he did then, and still did, used to earn him praise and encouragement in abundance. Now he was left to the cold wind and the silence.

_Next chapter will be up in roughly two weeks. But every review knocks a day off the wait. Live or die. Make your choice. * tv static *_


	3. Nine Cats

****_presented without comment._

**Porcupine Tree – Nine Cats**

Charlotte woke up excited for some part of her old life to make an appearance. Friends of hers from New York, Celia and Ryan Iver, were coming for the weekend with Ariel, their fifteen year old daughter. Every year they visited for Christmas because Charlotte didn't like packing up and going back to New York. She didn't know the words to explain the depth of her hatred for the toxic city.

They had communicated by phone several times through the year to plan for this visit and the day had finally come when they would be arriving from the airport. After her morning tai-chi Charlotte had a quick breakfast of eggs, toast and jam before throwing on a floppy sweater and jeans.

She savoured the drive through Crystal Lake to Fairfield to the airport downtown, refraining from turning on the radio so she could appreciate the last silence of the weekend.

Along the way she thought about her friends and the last time she saw them. She wondered if Celia still bleached her hair, if she still wore at least one item of designer clothing. She wondered if Ryan was still prematurely grey or if he gave into peer pressure and coloured it back to its original brown. She could hardly remember Ariel because every time Celia and Ryan had made plans to visit, Ariel's grandparents had insisted on her spending the holidays with them instead of with her parents and Charlotte. For some reason Ryan's parents hated Charlotte, though they knew her when she lived in New York. She couldn't be sure they ever liked her. The last time she had seen Ariel she had been nine years old. She was anticipatory to meet her again, particularly because she didn't like what living rich in the city had the tendency to do to the eggshell minds of children. More often than not their good qualities were trampled underfoot and forgotten.

Days earlier she had prepared the two guest rooms so she wouldn't have to rush later in the week. She knew that her home was substantially smaller than what the Iver's were used to in New York, but they had always said how much they loved Charlotte's little secluded set up. She hoped Ariel would like it too.

It had been almost a full year since she had them over for a visit, but this time she could feel a kind of awkward pressure in her head that she didn't understand. It was almost as if she was getting _too _used to the solitude the Crystal Lake cabin offered her. In a way, she didn't want to bring people into her home anymore, which was as worrisome a thought as it was appealing.

Carlisle scratched his chin, regretting not shaving. His skin was dry and irritated now. "What's your problem? None of these places have security alarms and they're miles away from town, let alone a police station. What's got your panties in a knot?"

Joel, his long-time petty criminal partner, had a vice grip on his coffee mug. They kept their voices low because they sat in a diner. True, they were in the middle of Podunk Nowhere, but they couldn't be too careful. Joel's eyes wandered nervously from table to table. "I don't like it here. You know the stories."

Carlisle threw back his blonde head and whooped with derisive laughter, mocking his friend's sensitivity to superstition. "And you wonder why I don't take you seriously."

Joel's eyes flared. "Shut your fucking mouth Carl! I just have a bad feeling. You don't have to be an asshole about everything." Carlisle sucked in his cheeks in a vain effort to appease his friend. Joel knew this was the closest he would get to sincerity so he didn't pursue it. "All I know is that there is an angry killer in these woods and you want to go there."

"First of all good buddy, _we _want to go there. _You're _just getting cold feet. Second, so what if he's really out there? You forget, people live in those woods and if they haven't been slaughtered yet our chances are looking pretty good. It's not like we're going to piss on his mother's grave or something, we'll keep out of the woods and that'll be that. Hey," he crooned jokingly. "we can get hookers when we're done. Y'like that? Does Joeley wanna hooker?" In better spirits, the two punched each other playfully from across the table. "So we're in the clear now?"

"Yeah," Joel agreed grudgingly. "As long as we go to a secluded house and nobody's home." Carlisle and Joel made their thoroughly dishonest living by stealing designer drugs from the medicine cabinets of wealthy loners and seniors. They had worked their way from California to Illinois and were not about to end their success streak so soon.

Carlisle winked at the teenage waitress and made her blush as they paid their bill and left.

The waitress frowned. She was hoping for a better tip.

Jason had watched Charlotte and her guests get into the truck and leave early in the morning. He was glad for this, because he didn't like the look of the teenage girl; he could just _smell _the filth radiating off her from across the lake. But it didn't matter now, they were leaving, and hopefully would not be returning.

The day she had come home with those three city-dwellers she had been gone for several hours, so he assumed she would be gone for the same amount of time now. They hadn't gone anywhere in the car for the few days they were here; they stayed within the realm of the lake. He was sure they were leaving now, probably by way of the airport. They seemed to walk as if expecting the inflexibility of concrete instead of soft dirt under their expensive shoes, so it was a safe assumption to think that they didn't get out to the country much.

At first, he tried to think of why she suddenly felt the need to break her solitude. They stayed inside most of the time and he wasn't keen on leaving footprints in the snow near all the windows so he kept his distance. He found a pair of ancient binoculars in the mines the other day, so he wasn't completely oblivious to the goings on in the small house.

The first night they were there it dawned on him that it was Christmas. Jason knew what the day was but he wasn't obsessed with the celebration. Some years he would cut down a tree and give it a few sparse decorations, but the sight of the naked tree made him feel lonely and small. The holidays offered him no comfort so he opted to treat it like any other day. That was why she had guests, Jason decided, because she was lonely. He knew that feeling all too well, and wished she wouldn't have to feel the cold emptiness of the world in all its hideous intensity.

This woman appeared comfortable with her solitude before the holidays came, maybe she was just as lonely as Jason when push came to shove. Maybe if he ever found the courage he could show her that she wasn't as alone as she thought. Maybe she could show Jason the same.

Hours later it started getting dark and Jason heard a car approaching. But in the dim afternoon light, he saw that it was a dark blue sedan, not the woman's beat up truck. Curiously, he stood stock still with a tilt in his neck as the car parked further down the road behind cover of some evergreen trees. Two men exited the car, talking loudly. Obviously up to no good. Jason was all to skilled at deciphering a motive.

One of the two seemed paranoid (for good reason) and was forever looking over his shoulder. The other was too assured of himself for his own good and walked with a swagger that made Jason want to cut his legs off at the knee.

But he wouldn't do that. No, they had already gotten inside and he would wait until they came back out to spill their blood. He was sure the woman would not appreciate blood stained ceilings like he would.

Not ten minutes later, Charlotte's truck roared down the gravel driveway. Jason saw this and was overcome with anxiety. Those men hadn't left. They were still inside. And very soon, she would be inside with them. Jason's blood boiled and his feet were already moving beneath him. Staining her home with blood that needed to be spilled was the last of his concerns now.

Joel heard a key in the lock. "Carl..." he whispered urgently. "Hide."

Charlotte stepped over the threshold and sighed, sensing nothing amiss. Truthfully, she was glad to be alone, but she wasn't at ease. This was because she was _not _alone and had no reason to feel relaxed just yet. As soon as Carlisle and Joel saw the oblivious woman enter, they forgot about hiding. They didn't need to hide now. They left their spot in one of the bedrooms and stalked up behind her. She was washing her hands in the kitchen sink, humming.

As quiet as the wind they sneaked up behind her. Not quiet enough, however. Charlotte realized that she was not as alone as she originally assumed.

Charlotte wished she had a hammer.

But the shotgun under the sink would do in a pinch such as this.

She whirled around with the boom stick in her hands, pointing it between the two intruders. She was all business before one of the men got spooked and fired a shot through the window. Charlotte screamed at him, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" The men exchanged anxious glances.

"Lady, put the gun down." The blonde one told her firmly.

She scoffed, not thinking of her safety in the least. "Fix my fucking window." Nothing more was said with three guns trained on three people. Charlotte did not want to come home to a Mexican standoff, yet here she was.

It was at this climactic moment that Jason thrust himself into the room, the screen door flapping uselessly behind him. Hearing the bullet pierce the window had caused Jason to assume the worst. His kill switch engaged because he feared that she had been shot in the scuffle and he wasn't fast enough to stop it.

He dwarfed the two assailants who were wearing the same expression of dumb awe as Charlotte. They immediately began to empty their magazines into Jason's chest. Charlotte held the shotgun at her side so she could cover her mouth with her hand in shock.

Jason's machete sailed horizontal and silent, and that was the end of Joel and Carlisle. Their heads fell artlessly and bounced feebly once of twice upon contact with the floor. There was a very long moment of silence before Charlotte finally tore her eyes from the headless assailants to observe her saviour.

"Are you okay?" she all but cried in her hysteria, taking in the bullet wounds which were oozing a dark and viscous substance. "They just shot you! You... didn't even flinch..." Finally she begins to realize, "That didn't hurt at all did it?"

Her facial expression defied definition. Past the sound of her attempts to catch her over-extended breath, there was no noise at all although gradually, when her heartbeat slowed and no longer drowned out all external noise, she listened to Jason's stunningly even breath as it began to be a model for her own. Slowly she lowered her hand from her mouth, realizing that the floor was soaked with blood. This fact was at the very back of her mind.

Jason stood, with his looming presence, in her cottage for the first time. To save her. Or simply to kill the two robbers. Maybe they had trespassed in his forest. Or maybe, just maybe, he took it upon himself to save her life a second time. He seemed to expend as much effort beheading the two men as he did guiding her through the trees that night anyway.

He had to have been close enough both to know she was in danger and to have arrived in the nick of time. For whatever reason, knowing this comforts her.

"You really should stop saving my life, Jason. It's bad for the image." She would never be able to explain in words why she would say something like this to Jason Voorhees, but in the moment it was all too much.

He huffed a laugh, which caught Charlotte off guard as well as intrigued her. He didn't make a sound, but the holes in his mask cut the sharp little exhale like a cheese grater. Smiling stupidly and unsure of herself, she motioned to the bodies decorating her floor. "Can we get rid of these now?"

Jason nodded and made a strange gripping gesture at the top of his head, his way of telling her to pick up the severed heads as he knew she probably had very little experience dragging a body. She seemed to understand and nodded in reply. She looked at the dead men with typical trepidation, but banished her wariness to some other plane, and delicately gripped the men's heads by the hair. She looked back to Jason for council; he had one of them slung over his shoulder and held the other by the ankles in one large hand. He stuck his chin out in the direction of the door for her to go first.

It wouldn't be long before it was pitch black outside with the last of the afternoon light disappearing behind the crystallized treetops. Charlotte held the heads a fair distance away from herself, as they were still bleeding enough to be disgusting. She kept looking back to Jason for guidance and to double check that he wasn't going to kill her, though she doubted it at this point.

Droplets of blood fell to the snow on either side of Charlotte's path and she began to shiver as the adrenaline washed out of her blood.

Once they were a little ways into the forest, Jason dropped the bodies in the snow with sugary thuds so Charlotte stopped as well. He nodded to the severed heads indicating that she could drop them now, and she was all too eager to do so. He wasn't in a hurry to dispose of the bodies so he decided to see her home safely; they walked together in complete silence.

Charlotte half ascended to the patio whereas Jason stood at the foot of the stairs. She looked quite conflicted when she asked, "You remember me, don't you? I was lost and-" He gave a nod and it cut short her speech as if he had covered her mouth with his hand. His presence was overwhelming, even at a small distance.

"Will you stay for a while? I have to thank you somehow. Please?" Charlotte let her irrationality get the better of her; she reached for Jason's hand, unaware of what she was doing. When their skin made contact they both jerked away; Charlotte, because she was terrified of making one wrong move that would end with her bodily fluids painting the deck; Jason, because he knew from experience that touch meant a very narrow range of things, the most prevalent aiming to some ulterior motive. He fled slowly.

"At least let me feed you," she pleaded adorably, quickly forgetting her indiscretion as she felt her panic rise when Jason took another step. He stopped, and maybe only in her imagination did his head tilt as though considering this offer. A bird on the lake squawked and startled her; she whirled around with her hand on her heart to see a heron skim the water and fly off. Catching her breath a second time as she turned back expecting to see Jason, she was substantially disappointed to be staring at a flight of empty stairs.

She stood watching the empty space enamoured by thoughts of admiration for his stealth and confusion aimed at her poignant disappointment. She sighed slowly only to suck back every last bit of oxygen in a heart stopping gasp when she turned to enter the door and saw Jason standing quite silently in the way, watching her with faint curiosity as she caught her breath a third time.

"The Anopheles mosquito couldn't hold a candle to you." Jason's head tilted in confusion but Charlotte was too drained to explain properly.

"Nevermind." She brushed off the reference but she couldn't brush off her self-indulgent smile. Jason took one large step over the threshold and Charlotte followed in a few more steps. "Are you hungry because I'm... _not._ Anymore." There was blood everywhere. Her nose wrinkled at the sight and the overwhelming stench of it, gazing around the affected area with apprehension. "Damn it. I _have _to clean this. I mean you probably don't mind, but _I _do. How do you feel about lasagna?" He remained silent and didn't gesture yes or no, he simply sat down at the table. "Neutral, huh?"

Jason hadn't smelled tomato sauce in an eternity and his mouth watered. The woman (it occurred to him that he didn't yet know her name) was obsessively scrubbing the mess of blood, which Jason found to be redundant considering he was often bathed in entrails, but then, they obviously didn't live the same lives. He made sure she wasn't going to look at him and to be safe he turned away so only his back would be visible from her angle before he lifted his mask only slightly, just enough to eat. The lasagna was incredible, rich, and filling. Even the fork tasted good.

Jason wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before lowering the mask back into place again. He burped, surprising himself. Charlotte heard this satisfied noise and smiled at the floor, hoping the pungent smell of ammonia didn't affect the taste of the lasagna.

When she was no longer disgusted by her floor she scrubbed her hands and warmed up some lasagna for herself. Her stomach was growling quite angrily for having been neglected. The echo smell of hot food triggered a similar rumble in Jason's stomach. Again, though she wasn't sure why, Charlotte couldn't completely suppress a smile. "Still hungry?" But Jason did not want to lift his mask again so he shook his head in decline.

He didn't want to rush necessarily, but he couldn't stem his curiosity. Still, he let her eat before getting her attention again. He tried to gesture for a pen and paper by miming writing on the palm of his hand; Charlotte seemed to understand after a moment and a tangible moment of realization.

"Oh! S-sure..." Hastily she rummaged through a few drawers for a pad of yellowish paper and a pen.

Jason accepted them and immediately began writing, WHAtS YOUR NAME

In some corner of her mind, Charlotte was expecting some strange, unknown question rather than such a simple and predictable one. She answered calmly, "My name is Charlotte."

Finally, he knew her name. It was gentle and soft and suited her well. This nearly tripled his curiosity for her. He had spent so much time becoming familiar with her mannerisms and now that he was faced with an opportunity to hear first hand, from her own mouth, who she was, he hadn't the faintest idea where to begin.

tELL ME ABOUt YOURSELF

Charlotte smiled strangely at the clear but immature script, then her gaze rose to Jason. "There isn't much to tell," she said in a peculiar tone. She didn't say it like a disguised wish for encouragement, she said it as if telling what there was to tell would be utterly exhausting.

WHy DO yOU LiVE ALONE

Her lips press together thoughtfully and smeared tomato sauce over them. "I was married. See the wedding ring tan line? But he died."

Jason could have put a little more tact into the phrasing of his next question, but he thought she would understand that his curiosity was getting the better of him. Rather, that he was allowing it. WHAt KiLLED HiM

She regarded the floor. "The city. Indirectly, of course. But I had to put the blame somewhere... Heart attack. Too much business is bad for the heart, not to mention the mind. When Albert died... I sold the big apartment, I sold everything," She laughed at something and interrupted herself. "I sold my life insurance, even. And I had this place built. I would have gladly done it myself, but I don't trust myself not to overlook something important... My thoughts are so... non-linear right now. Sorry. We made good money, if that means anything now," she added with a twang of sadness for some unclear objective. "And even before his life insurance paid off I would have had more money than I knew what to do with. For the first little while, waking up in this big, lavish cave was absolutely no comfort. It made me feel worse, if anything. I stopped feeling human, in a way. I felt like a piece of furniture, or like a crumpled piece of paper, just existing without much else to do. I forgot what grass felt like under my toes, which really scared me. It wasn't even a conscious choice that I made, I just bought the property here without thinking, I hired contractors and everything and eight months later I moved in with a few bits of new furniture and that was it."

The speech left her exhilarated and exhausted. She felt as though she could talk forever just for having someone to listen unconditionally. However, she couldn't think of anything to say. Except one question that she phrased with extreme caution.

"May I ask you a personal question?" After half an eternity of terror and anxiety for lack of response, she got one. Jason nodded. "Are the stories I've heard about you true?"

WHAt HAVE yOU HEARD

"From the locals? They say you live alone in what used to be Camp Crystal Lake, on the far side of the lake, opposite town. Anyone who trespasses there, you kill, to keep it sacred, I think. Or to preserve your mother's memory... Supposedly you drowned as a child at the camp. The counsellors weren't paying attention and the other kids thought you were a freak and pushed you into the water. They let you drown... Some people say they went so far as to hold you under." She addressed him with foolish hope in her eyes, hoping it was only hearsay. "That can't be true. Is it true?" Jason nodded shallowly, noting the revulsion poisoning her features. "That's disgusting." He only hoped she didn't say that out of pity, though she didn't appear to. She was genuinely disgusted.

Jason waited patiently for her to continue, which she did only after examining Jason's mild body language. As long as he wasn't angry at her for listening to the town gossip, as if she had any choice in the matter. It seemed every time she went to the grocery store it was all anyone could ever talk about: the drowning, the cruelty, the mother, the beheading, the legends, the lies. "They say you're nothing but a mindless killer," she said in a hollow voice, specifying _they._

DO yOU tHiNK iM StUPiD

She rose an eyebrow at the paper. "Well that _is_ a stupid question," she teased sarcastically, but it was a fleeting act. She smiled gently. "No. Of course not. You're like a guardian of the forest. Waiting in silence for the peace to be broken so you can restore it again."

This charmingly fairytale-esqe answer stirred Jason's memory to a question he had. He wrote quickly before he forgot, iN tHE FORESt yOU WERE HURt HOW DiD it HAPPEN

Slightly surprised that he would ask, Charlotte paused before answering, "The night before I ran into you I spent the night in this barn. A wolf found me and bit me. I would have died if I..." Somehow, she was unable to finish while replaying the grisly incident in her mind. Eventually, her line of sight rose to Jason again, who was tilting his head in confusion. "I heard it howling and found a hammer to defend myself with. You can imagine the rest."

Her tone was oddly defeated, like she had not acted in defence and had simply killed an animal for no reason. She was berating herself endlessly and uselessly for saving her own life.

Jason wrote out very slowly, DONt FEEL BAD FOR tHAt

She couldn't respond. Jason thought she either didn't understand what he meant or she was simply overwrought. He didn't think too much of it. Good people often think less of themselves for doing the right thing more than bad people think highly of themselves for doing the wrong thing.

He wished it didn't seem so impossible to comfort her. Abruptly he stood, the floor creaking under him. Charlotte seemed to understand and smiled warmly at him. "Good night Jason." He could literally not remember the last time someone had wished him good night. It would have been his mother, but he couldn't recall the exact scenario, or the tone of voice or the phrasing. He nodded shyly in her direction before leaving quietly.

She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. After her eyes passed over the mirror, Charlotte had to retrieve her jaw from the floor. She was _drenched _in blood. Not so much her arms, but everything from her scalp to her shoulders was red and sticky.

Grimacing, she peeled her clothes off and thoroughly scrubbed herself pink and clean with far more ardour than when she scrubbed the floor.

_any thoughts? comments? questions? throw an author a bone because reviews make me write faster_

_The little comment about the Anopheles mosquito being silent is my obligatory ode to Naked Lunch: "... under the silent wings of the Anopheles mosquito. (Note: This is not a figure. Anopheles mosquitoes are silent.)" The more you know. *rainbow tailed shooting star*_

_till next time_

_xoxo_


	4. Seeplymouth

_so this story could_ change to a romance in the future. I am undecided. I havent got a clue how i want to end this story yet; originally i wasnt going to go anywhere near a happy ending (which is why this is listed as tragedy because lets face it, what else is more tragic than not being able to love someone fully for fear of rejection?) but for the time being i am thoroughly undecided. Dont freak out though, the end is nowhere in sight and i plan to squeeze several more chapters out of my brain before thinking about a finale. I just wanted to throw that idea out there and see who bites.__

_thanks a million to Nightbloodwolf, Kyuubi123 and teiaramogami for the lovely reviews. And to my silent alerts and favourites im gonna do something uncouth and call you out, __11XxDEADSILENCExX11, R__andomlysinging, AnimeOtakuBara, __Shepard of the Damned,__ VampireSiren and Midnight-Shadow-Wolfling! Dont freak out, im just gonna bug you for reviews, one from each of you and i would soil myself with happiness. LOVE MEEEEEE! I dont care if you have nothing at all to say, even just a quick "yay for update" or "you have body odour" will make me happy. Maybe not so much that i have b.o. but either way just let me know youre alive._

**Volcano Choir – Seeplymouth**

_Nemophilist : one who is fond of the forest._

Steam rose from a window, giving a humid contrast to all the snow. As he was leaving Charlotte's home Jason saw this and felt compelled to feel the steam. Through the window and the frosted glass of the shower door he saw the curiously abstract vision of all that red blood flowing down and leaving fresh pink skin in its wake. He couldn't see anything more than her outline, more of a vague blur than a body, but all the same he couldn't tear his feet from their spot.

Her hands moved their way in small circles to scrub away the blood with a frilly blue loofah; they lingered in her hair. Standing in the halo of steam Jason was sure that even if she stared right at him she wouldn't be able to see him. So he didn't move an inch from where he stood until the water stopped.

Feeling very warm, Jason retreated to the mines and eventually his bed.

He couldn't stop thinking about the next time he would see her, playing out silly scenarios in his head and imagining what she would look like laughing; if her eyes would crinkle in the corners, or if her mouth would open really wide and accentuate her laugh lines. But how he could go about trying to make her laugh was a better and more pressing question. After a few days he could no longer postpone another meeting.

He felt fear before he left Camp Crystal Lake. In his mind it could go one of two ways. Either she would panic and try to flee because even though he meant her no harm, she would feel threatened or frightened or confused. Or, she would be cold and indifferent to his presence and make it clear that she did not want him around. Either scenario filled him with dread.

Thinking back to that night in the forest when she had unknowingly stumbled into his territory, Jason was reminded of a story his mother used to read to him. She would read him stories from the bible but only one stuck in his mind until this very moment. In truth, he hadn't remembered of any of them until the gears clicked into place and he was able to make the connection.

In ancient Egypt there was an evil king who had enslaved the entire population of Hebrews. In his fear induced delirium, he ordered all male children to be murdered so that they could never revolt against his rule. One mother did all she could to save her son, but eventually she was forced to send him down the Nile in a bulrush basket because she could no longer protect him from the evils of the king. The Egyptian princess was miraculously the one to find this baby and she raised him as her own son, naming him Moses because she found him in the river.

The rest of the story was unimportant to Jason, but what struck him was the metaphor of the baby in the bulrush basket. He was sent downstream into the arms of someone with the power to help him and if the princess had not been there, Moses would have drowned.

Metaphors are dangerous.

The snow had piled up all through the week and Jason found himself wading through it, but he quickly lost patience and simply trudged through, leaving huge, stretched footprints. It was midday, Charlotte would be awake by then.

The closer he got to her end of the lake the harder he had to work to banish his anxiety. He must have swallowed a caterpillar some time ago because that was the only explanation for the incessant fluttering in his stomach.

As he took the last few steps into the shadow of her cottage he saw that she was oblivious on the deck. To his slight disappointment she was smoking, but she was also lost in thought so completely that he was all but invisible. He hated how quiet he was being but it seemed he was making even less noise than usual despite the fact that he had never wanted to be louder before in his life. He didn't want to sneak up on her and have the outcome be terror. It's not as if he was trying to get her heart pumping and her flight reflex kicking in, he just wanted to see her.

To combat his unwelcome stealth, he trudged loudly through the snow and kicked it into the air, and he tapped his fingers on the edge of the deck where he could reach.

Past the hollow whistle of her exhale, Charlotte _did _hear something. As she turned her head to the noise she saw Jason and smiled.

"Hello!" she said (with intolerable brightness, in her opinion).

All doubts vanished. She was happy to see him. All her teeth were visible, free from her smiling lips. He felt himself flush and smile under his mask as he waved shyly to her. She was at a loss for only a moment before she crushed her half-smoked cigarette in an ashtray. "Come sit down, Jason. Sit with me." Jason was on the second step before Charlotte had an idea. "Do you want the paper again?" He nodded and she bade him another smile that could melt a glacier.

tELL ME ABOUt ALBERt

She was mildly surprised that he remembered his name. Obviously, she had no way of knowing that upon hearing that she had been married, Jason could not stop thinking about the name Albert and what information could be squeezed out of the two syllables.

"I wouldn't know where to begin... We were really young when we got married – I was twenty-one, he was twenty-three. We started this real estate business together in Manhattan and it took off within the year. We were making unbelievable money from then on for six years. We actually met when we were getting out realtor's licenses. The thing is... we worked so hard to build that company up and climb the corporate ladder side by side. We dedicated years to it. I thought we were happy – Albert was happy as far as I know and I was happy too. But when he died, I realized how empty my life was. Without him I finally saw how pathetic all our attempts at success were because without him it was all worthless. Every cent we earned lost its value to me when the light in his eyes went out... I was in the hospital with him when he died. He just slipped away. I thought he would make it for a while, but he just stopped responding and... I had to let him go."

To combat the sudden soul ache Charlotte reached instinctively for the pack of Camels but she stopped dead when Jason's eyes narrowed into slits. "Do these bother you?" she asked warily, feeling an uncertain kind of fear when he nodded. She was about to apologize but Jason waved his hand in a noncommittal gesture. She didn't want to take any sign for granted. "Are you sure?" Charlotte took very careful consideration of this accepting gesture and decided never, under any circumstances to test it further. But she smoked her cigarette without any more complaint than those narrowed eyes.

Later that day they took a walk that lasted hours. Every so often Jason would stop to write something against a tree, but they would walk in this fashion without many other obstacles. All the trees were coated in ice, looking almost as if they were brand new and wrapped in plastic. Charlotte remarks quietly on this and added after a short thought, "It's weird how the natural and artificial can be so alike sometimes." After a much longer thought, Jason agreed. Despite how badly she wished to keep walking, Charlotte couldn't keep her shivering under control and had to turn back. Jason walked her home in comfortable silence, both of their paces slowed abnormally in an unconscious lament.

The next day Jason came back to walk with her again. Charlotte explained that she was in a mood, how sometimes she would wake up with rain cloud spitting on her and it wouldn't go away no matter what she did. She didn't tell him that it had been like this since Albert died because she felt he didn't need to know and didn't want to burden him with her own regrets. But he still wanted to walk with her and this was fine because they walked for three hours in complete silence, smiling to themselves. The only noise in those three hours were of breathing and footsteps being left behind in the snow.

The rare occasion when Jason would lead her though the camp was only time she would ever see it. She never went there on her own for which Jason was appreciative. She respected his privacy. Still, he enjoyed her company; she was laid back and calm and she didn't mind the long silences that followed him like a shadow and every so often a spark of something curiously fiery would flash across her eyes. He would never bring her into the mines though, he needed that space for himself. It had to remain secret.

She fed him almost every time he came to visit. Jason was obscenely careful not to offer even a glimpse of his face. He would face another direction if he lifted his mask at all. More often than not, he would wait for Charlotte to finish eating first and clear her dishes away before he would lift a fork to his own mouth, unless she insisted he eat because she could hear his stomach from across the table. But in time she got used to this and kept a respectful distance from the subject.

She never turned him away. She never shied away from his poignant stare. She never tried to force her way into a place where he didn't want her. But it wasn't far from the truth to say she was breaking down barriers with minimal force.

Not to say that it wasn't trying for Charlotte. She was constantly on her toes. For a long time, every sudden noise outside her walls caused her to morph into a shambling ball of nerves. Aside from the half-conversations on paper (which she'd kept) Jason was entirely unable to communicate, leaving her mostly in the dark, which could be a scary place at times.

But she ignored the uncertainty and followed her instincts. He never made any sudden moves, but Charlotte couldn't be sure if this was for her benefit or simply because it was second nature to him. He snuck up on her almost constantly but she was sure this was not intentional.

In early February the snow had all but melted leaving the ground both dead and mostly bare, like a turd sprinkled sparingly with sugar. Jason and Charlotte had been walking for an hour and were well away from her cottage when Jason suddenly realized he was without paper. In their haste to enjoy the last of the snow, they had forgotten the paper. "There has to be a better way to communicate..." She barely finished the word. "Obviously! I can teach you sign language. My mother was deaf, it's practically a second language to me. We can start right now, if you want."

Jason learned the basics of sign language in only two weeks. It could have been his eagerness to communicate that was driving him to concentrate, or it was simply the chance to shamelessly stare at Charlotte and be in her company.

Soon they began to have entire conversations, instead of Charlotte's sporadic, one-sided ramblings. Inwardly, Jason missed that. At the same time, however, he was glad for the chance to speak to her more freely and not having to depend solely on paper and a pencil. Teaching Jason sign language was the smartest thing Charlotte had ever done, she decided one day, because it gave her some assurance that she wasn't bothering him with her presence. He enjoyed her companionship, which was so immensely flattering that it made her blush to acknowledge this thought.

One day in March Jason led Charlotte to his home. The sun had been hiding behind a rain cloud all week and it's sudden appearance was a little overwhelming. Jason held the broken door open for her. Inside it felt the same as outside; all the windows were either thrown open or broken. The mid-morning light illuminated every sordid detail of the house; every peel in the wallpaper, ever crack in the plaster, every layer of dust, every dish encrusted with ancient food. She tapped on the upright piano to find that only a few of the keys played at all. It was eerie.

She wandered through invisible contours of hot metal, trying not to show her discomfort. She felt dirty just by being inside this house; she couldn't imagine how Jason felt by living here. She found herself in the only working bedroom: Jasons'. Peeking out from under the bed and also piled in a corner were mounds of ruined clothes, probably torn to rags. Charlotte resolved to make him some sturdy clothes, some socks, knit him a sweater, something to make her feel less guilty. She wasn't even sure why she felt that way. Jason couldn't help but wonder what Charlotte was thinking, because she seemed to be trying to remain impassive.

On one level, Charlotte was thrilled that Jason trusted her enough to bring her into his home. She wasn't worried about being slaughtered so much anymore. On another level, she pitied him. He had been living in this dilapidated house for decades, all alone, cruel memories his only company.

"Jason... can I lift your mask?" She wasn't sure why she wanted to see his face because there had to be a reason why he hid it, but all the same she felt like it was something she _should _know. Jason made absolutely no response to her question which made her hesitant. He did nothing when she raised her hands to the rim of the plastic mask. She moved extremely slowly and deliberately, giving him plenty opportunity to stop her from continuing.

Jason's mind was moving at the speed of light, trying desperately to decide if he should let her do this. The moment her fingertips made to pull the mask up he decided _no _and roughly grabbed her wrists in a single hand. She flinched and he could see that he was hurting her but he was shaken. He only let go when he felt her gently try to pull away with her fingers splayed out in surrender.

"Okay. It's okay, Jason. You can have your secrets." Jasons' hands felt like lead, hanging like useless weights. He only hoped her declaration was true and that it wasn't blurted out in fear like the countless half-baked bargains of his victims. Suddnly, Jason felt such deep remorse because he had associated his Charlotte with his _victims. _His sacrifices. Those frivolous, disgusting teenagers were absolutely nothing like her and he felt ashamed to have thought them similar even in the most indirect way.

_It smells like rain today, _his hands told Charlotte. The rain had come back full force over the next few weeks and the grass was all green and soft again.

"We should head back then." He walked her home. Jason's hand was as stiff and unyielding as drywall in hers, but she ignored this and led him inside.

"I made you something." She rummaged through the laundry basket until she found the navy blue sweater. "Jason?" He was nowhere to be found. Charlotte frowned, then yelped when a heavy hand clapped her shoulder, thus proving her previous assessment to be false. He wasn't beside her anymore, he was behind her. "Oh! Jason you scared me!"

Charlotte was torn between watching his hands speak and watching the playful glint in his eyes.

_I like scaring you. _

Her jaw fell slack but she couldn't completely stop herself from grinning.

On a warm Tuesday in April, Charlotte hopped into her truck and headed to town. This regular excursion took her three or four hours, on average. The moment she disappeared on the dirt road, Jason was on her patio. Gingerly, he tried the door... and it opened. Which was strange because he had watched her put the key in the lock and turn it. She must not have locked it right. In any case, Jason was thrilled at this. He had been toying with the idea of sneaking into her home when she wasn't there (an idea which gave him a funny feeling; one that he couldn't define as good or bad) and had thought of ways he could get inside without leaving marks or damage. This convenient circumstance sped his plans to the next stage.

He wiped his boots clear of mud on the mat and stepped inside. It was faintly warm, from the embers of a dying fire in the woodstove. The house seemed much smaller without Charlotte, Jason felt claustrophobic, but he pushed aside his discomfort so he could do what he came to do. He actually didn't come to do anything in particular, he only wanted to immerse himself in her home, become a part of it, in a metaphysical way.

He shut the door deftly behind him and allowed his eyes to roam over every single surface, taking in all details. A key hook was the first thing he noticed, with several copper ones and two silver ones all hanging by themselves. None were on a ring, none were grouped together. The keys she kept on her person were on a ring, but she wouldn't have single, loose copies of them hanging by her door. She probably didn't remember what they unlocked but didn't want to throw them away.

Everything seemed to be made of wood. Jason was hard-pressed to find a single object made of glass or metal, excluding her kitchen appliances, and the lamps which were made of brass.

There wasn't much in the way of knick-knacks, however, which made the place feel like a hotel room. At least that's what it reminded Jason of. Charlotte probably thought too much decoration was tacky. There were paintings on almost every wall; some of various landscapes, some well-known reproductions, and some outlandish abstract pieces. It was clear that she wasn't living in a blank padded cell. Less just seemed to be more.

The large kitchen window offered a clean and spectacular view of the lake without obstruction. The multi-purpose dining table was positioned directly in line with the window, which was centered on the wall and took up most of it.

There were no pictures on display. No photographs at all. Jason's curiosity for this anomaly led him to do a little searching and he found several albums hidden away in a cupboard. They had been sitting in their own dust for years, untouched and unacknowledged.

Sifting through her belongings was very wrong. Jason knew this but he didn't care. He wasn't thinking about the morality of invading her privacy, he didn't even think that he _was _invading her privacy. He was simply exploring an alien territory with the aim of it not being alien any longer.

_thoughts?_

_xoxo_


	5. Green Grass

_a lot of the angst here was inspired by The Sorrows Of Young Werther by Goethe. just thinking about it makes me tear up, honestly if that book doesn't break your heart its safe to say you dont have one. still i would recommend it if you can appreciate the heights and depths of the human soul. Broaden your horizons and they will brighten by default. _

_i wrote this chapter weeks ago and it still makes me sad. i think it goes without saying that i was aiming to break my faithful readers hearts with this. Also, i dont usually do this but i implore you to make use of youtube and listen to the song. just trust me._

_Fun Fact: the master copy of this story is saved on my computer as "hemlock for algernon"_

**Tom Waits – Green Grass**

Jason crept down the hill to her bedroom window. Her cottage was built in such a way that it stood above the slope and the rain washed trench that cut the hill short, standing on its stilts. It could have been plucked right from the pages of a fairy tale.

She lay on her side, half covered by a few sheets after having kicked off her quilt. She frowned in her sleep and cuddled a pillow. Suddenly she stirred, her eyelids fluttered and so startled Jason that he jumped down from the slope and crouched under the cottage. She must have heard the thud of his boots because her bed springs creaked and her footsteps padded over Jason's head until he heard the squeaky screen door open and shut. Jason craned his neck to see her step out and lean on the railing facing the lake. She wore a dark flannel shirt and long, loose shorts. She lit a cigarette and sighed deeply. Jason glowered his disapproval at the action, stepped forward some and crushed a twig. The crackle startled them both.

Charlotte glared into the dark where the noise came from, calling out firmly, "Who's there?" Jason huffed a laugh. It would always amaze him at the sheer volume of times people had asked this question as if expecting an answer. But he knew he'd been caught and Charlotte would be angry with him if he stayed watching her in the shadows. When he stepped out from under the cottage and straightened to his full height the relief showed on her face. She was happy to see him; something that he would never get used to. At least, he hoped he wouldn't.

"I knew it was you! You woke me up, I think. I was sure I heard you."

_Sorry, _he motioned, though he wasn't sorry at all. Regardless, she waved away his apology.

"That's alright, Jason." She watched him curiously for a while, breathing in and out her smoke. "Lonely tonight?" He gave no answer, but she seemed to read him anyway. What else would he have been doing here? He stood stock still despite her urging him to join, "I can't go over there and get you; I'm not wearing shoes and the ground is muddy." When Jason still refused to move she grew more animated. "I'm going inside to get a blanket. You better be on this deck when I get back." The idle threat amused him enough to make him comply. He would have been more than happy to watch her sleep through the night, but fate seemed to be putting his best case scenario to shame. The pillar of smoke swirling from an ash tray attracted his attention; he stubbed the thing out.

Not a minute later, Charlotte returned with her promised blanket. "Glad I didn't actually have to come and get you. I'm still not wearing shoes." Jason's eyes followed her as she went to retrieve her cigarette only to find it crushed. She shot him a look that was amused, annoyed and not at all surprised, but she said nothing about it. She tucked her leg under her bum as she sat on the bench, motioning Jason to sit next to her. Naturally, he was powerless to resist. She offered him half the blanket but he declined, so she wrapped it around herself. She leaned against his side for all of a moment before noticing something with a smile. "You're wearing the sweater I made you."

When Jason made no kind of response she rested her head on his broad shoulder, her nose barely tickling his throat. They sat like that for a long time, quiet and peaceful. Jason felt entirely at ease. When Charlotte shivered faintly, his body acted on its own. He laid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Instinctively, she snuggled closer to him, fitting into his side as best she could, so that he dwarfed her folded body. Greedily, he breathed her in. Underneath the off-putting smell of smoke she smelled wonderful. She must have heard his excited heart.

Her head rose and fell with the baritone thump. "Your heartbeat is so strong," she marvelled quietly. From his angle looking down at the crown of her head, Jason admired the way her eyelashes fluttered above her cheekbones as her lids grew heavier.

They sat like that while Charlotte dozed and soon fell asleep again. Jason couldn't sleep, not with her so close to him, _clinging _to him. She clenched a fistful of sweater like a lifeline.

The way her arm fell stretched her shirt and exposed some of her collarbone. Jason refrained from admiring the vivid skeletal display in the way he wanted to. Instead, he stroked her shoulder and shut his eyes completely. Eventually, when the crickets soothing calls had done their job, Jason stopped moving and simply held Charlotte there like a doll. It didn't occur to him at the time, but she was holding him in exactly the same way she held her pillow.

The only thing that shook Jason out of his quiet state was a simple, sleeping gesture, completely unplanned. Charlotte's hand lost its grip on his shirt and slid down limply where it rested on the juncture of his thigh.

Almost immediately a fire sprung up inside him. He nearly flinched at the power held in the action that fed this coiling, blazing heat in his belly. He had never felt anything like it before and it frightened him to a degree, being completely unsure how to react. He had to put out the fire somehow, but he was unwilling to move even slightly. Charlotte was so peaceful beside him... was she the cause of the fire?

Every fraction of a twitch triggered another wave of molten heat; Jason wasn't sure exactly what was happening to him, but he knew that he couldn't stand it much longer. The strangest part was that it felt good. Extremely so, which was why he was so worried about his possible reactions. He couldn't see the future. But he did know how he tended to react to alien and novel experiences, particularly ones as intense and all-consuming as this. The world could end around them and Jason would remain oblivious. The real chaos was in his head.

Jason had a very real belief in Heaven and Hell, grounded mostly within Reward and Punishment. They weren't places as concrete as his Crystal Lake, they were states of being. If one is good then one is rewarded in a variety of ways, the best of which is happiness. Being in a state of permanent elation. Hell is like this in the polar opposite; the worst punishment would be a state of constant sorrow. This sophisticated belief was not the one his mother taught him, rather is was the sum of the parts of what his mother had taught him. Jason had never seen a map with an arrow pointing to Heaven, or a road sign that said _Hell: Exit Next Right, _so they were as good as imaginary.

Heaven was exactly where he was now. But that intense and insane heat had him convinced that this was Hell also.

With considerable effort, Jason forced some feeling back into his tingling limbs so he could reposition Charlotte's hand in such a way that he could forget it had ever existed. He could feel his own hand resisting because of something he had refused to acknowledge until it had been thrown directly into his face. Or more precisely, his mask. With the inadvertent contact lost, the flames under Jason's skin were doused, as he predicted. The piercing, chemical hum of silence once again reigned, but Jason could only hear the depressing tone of his thoughts.

He knew that she couldn't love him the way he loved her. No matter how they connected and no matter how much she tried to convince him otherwise, they were incompatible on a fundamental level. He was ugly. Not in the wishy-washy "eye of the beholder" way. He had always known he way ugly and even though it had not been something he chose he had learned to live with it. Perhaps he hadn't developed the healthiest of coping mechanisms, but as long as he remained in a state of non-judgement, he was alright. He was almost happy.

Charlotte's attachment to him and his attachment to her (arguably stronger by an order of magnitude) could present a problem. She had said she had no problem with the mask, "his secrets" as she put it, but there would come a time when she changed her mind. It was inevitable, but he could not let that boundary be crossed. Selfishly, he needed her. He needed her compassion, her liberal touches, even now as she was cuddled up next to him without a care in her dreamy head he felt as if she belonged there, under the crook of his arm. Jason could not live with himself if he lost her.

If she ever wanted Jason to lift his mask, he knew that she could make him do it. Only she could. Because he wanted her to as much as he didn't. It put a quake in his bones.

But she would reject his advances without any doubt. She couldn't possibly find him _attractive_. He couldn't acknowledge how much this hurt because he couldn't pry himself away from her. Eventually he thought he might have to, but by no means did he want to.

If something were to cause it, some chain of events were to lead to Jason taking action on behalf of his attraction to her, she would never accept. Because he was ugly. Because he was a murderer. Because she was the only woman to show him affection since his mother. Because she was afraid of his dormant feelings towards her. Because she wanted friendship more than companionship, which Jason did as well, but sill it was hard to draw a line when he wanted so much of her.

If he could ever find the initiative to forgo caution with Charlotte and express his feelings to her, _his Lotte_, she would reject him. Not because she hated him, not because she wanted to, even, but because it was her nature. Jason believed she deserved better. And he would sacrifice himself for her happiness, even if it meant his.

He could just imagine the look of horror poisoning her limitless smile from the realization that _this _was the face of the monster she had grown so close to. The cruel words that would spill from her lips and his inability to comfort her and soothe her. She would cut him deeply and run from him. And what would he do then? He would be lost.

Charlotte made a little noise of discomfort in her sleep which shook Jason out of his trance. He was nearly crushing her shoulder, so absorbed with his fearful thoughts that he had not noticed his grip grow steadily rougher. He loosened his fingers hastily but without releasing the tension in his own bones, searching her face for any sign of waking. But she was in a very deep sleep, undisturbed, and Jason felt a huge wave of relief. He had not hurt her. She knew nothing.

Some light-hearted birds began chirping; morning must have been closer than he thought. Or he had simply been sitting there with Charlotte, so preoccupied with his worries and her calm that time had passed far too quickly. He would have liked to have her this close to him for ages. Charlotte would not be waking up anytime soon, not until the afternoon in all probability. Jason had work to do. Summer was right around the corner, after all.

With exceedingly gentle hands, he lifted her up and supported her with one arm like she was weightless. He brought her inside to her bedroom where he laid her down carefully before piling blankets on her. She clutched at them in her sleep and looked cold, so Jason went to her closet where he remembered there was a spare comforter. When he was satisfied that she would not be cold in the spring morning he stroked her cheek with his thumb, then covered it with his palm. To his intense surprise, she leaned into his hand and nuzzled against it.

The sight of his Lotte; her sleeping, soft features under his dirty fingernails and murderous hands looked like a hideous parody of a romantic moment. Jason felt the urge to leave, but his feet were rooted. She was oblivious in her sleep. Oblivious, but responsive.

He crouched beside her bed, unblinking eyes searching her face for signs of awareness and found none. Her eyes looked upon a tennis match under their lids. Jason had to strain to hear his shallow breath, even though his heart was pounding frantically. He knew she was dead asleep yet still he was expecting her eyes to shoot open the second he got close enough to breathe the same air as her.

Her eyes did not open. Her breathing didn't change. She didn't move. Jason's mind was finally silent. After an endless moment of silent deliberation, he lifted his mask and held it in one hand. Tentatively, he grazed his thumb over the swell of her bottom lip. She still did not move. He pressed his lips to hers, deciding upon contact that no man-made material could compare its softness to that of her lips because she was _divine_. He could have stayed like that for an eternity and it would never be enough. When he finally did pull away she still had not moved. She didn't know. She would never know.

_thoughts? broken hearts? dont despair, its not over yet, promise._

_xoxo_


	6. Under The Carpet

_YUP. ITS HAPPENNING. THE ROMANCE IS EN ROUTE._

_appy-polly-loggies for the wait, ive been feeling a little world-weary and have not been in much of a creative mood. __Kyuubi123, The Unmarked Trail, electrogirl88, Inkoholic4U, Keskron, Nightbloodwolf and Day-Of-The-Dead-TattooGal, youre all wonderful and i adore you. _

_its a lot easier to write with a great big smile on my face so read and please review if you want the next chapter up faster and better; reviews are like cattleprods for inspiration, they get that shit going._

**Felix Laband – Under The Carpet**

_Rollover Reaction: when a dream about someone you know skews how you feel about them all the next day, an emotion you are unable—and unwilling—to shake._

As the sun kissed the sky good morning, Jason was already temporal-lobe deep in preparations. In three days it would be May, marking the beginning of the summer season. Usually, one or two special cases camped illegally before the official season and "mysteriously" vanished, leaving only tent poles and garbage behind, but it had been quiet this year. Selfishly, Jason was very happy about this turn of events because he didn't have to spend any less time with Charlotte than he wanted to. All the same, he had a feeling that the summer rush would come fast because of the initial lull. Not that he minded the idea of wholesale slaughter.

He never abused the reluctant hospitality of the town by killing outside his territory, because he had no reason to. However, it went without saying that he took grave offence to the blatant disregard of his privacy by obnoxious, fornicating flesh-bags. It was always the loudest and most disrespectful who dared to parade around his side of the lake, so they were the ones Jason ever had the slightest contact with. Almost every person Jason found trespassing was doing so out of a misguided sense of rebellion, else they were looking for a secluded place to desecrate. Charlotte was the obvious exception to this rule.

They would see each other soon enough, so he didn't want to think about her in his usual reverent depth at the moment. He had work to do.

Jason meticulously lay six bear traps throughout the woods and covered them delicately with leaves. He thoroughly tested the bell systems. This was something he should have done weeks ago (in hindsight, it didn't mater because as previously mentioned, it was a quiet start to the season) in case of illegal campers, but for obvious reasons he hadn't had the presence of mind to do it. He sharpened his arrows, his axes, his hunting knife and his machete with precise affection. He put on the indigo sweater Charlotte made him and went to see her.

Charlotte woke from a wonderful dream. She hadn't the vaguest idea what it was about, but that wasn't important. It was one of those dreams of detuned channels of TV static. It left her in an enchanted mood to wake up in.

Since it was already well into the morning, Charlotte decided to skip her tai-chi and get some work done instead. A tree fell about thirty feet from her property the week before and she hadn't yet gotten around to chopping it up. There would be no sense in leaving it to rot when she could get her firewood pile restocked early. Usually, this ritual was done at the end of the summer. The previous year she only got around to doing it in November because of her little adventure in the woods and the resulting injury that pushed back her schedule into the fall.

The weather was pleasant and balmy so Charlotte dressed lightly and went straight to work. Each time she brought the axe down an errant and distracting thought vanished from her mind, leaving it clear and calm and most importantly, silent. She felt like she had just walked out of a room full of steam and could finally breathe. Unfortunately, this satori state did not last because of a razor sharp muscle tension which caused her mind's silence to shatter in the wake of full-force mental expletives. She rode the wave of pain long enough to embed the axe in a piece of wood before consoling her shoulder.

In the sunlight, her hair was the colour of weathered wood. It was pulled up in a pony tail with strands escaping every which way. The curled wisps accentuated the back of her neck. Jason saw her standing by a pile of wood and put his hand on her shoulder to get her attention. She seemed to crumble under his touch, which worried him. Her bangs were waved and fell charmingly into her eyes. Her mouth fell open, slack in pain. Trepidation festered in his gut.

Charlotte immediately noticed the agitation in him. "I'm alright Jason. My shoulder's just acting up, I must have slept on it wrong." Jason's posture slumped in shame, he averted his eyes from her painful sincerity. She truly had no idea what happened after she fell asleep in his arms. This was much of a relief as it was torture. But then she couldn't know the turmoil in his head so it made no difference. So Jason buried his self-loathing deep down.

_Want me to finish for you?_

She smiled in his favourite way. "Yes, thank you. I'm going to go put some ice on it." As Jason set to work the same stillness of mind overcame him. Swing by swing he felt immensely better than he had all day. All week, even. But this phenomenon seemed to be cursed. Not in the form of pain. In the form of a bear.

Jason slowly looked up, though he knew beyond a doubt what was in front of him, and tightened his grip on the axe, hoping feverishly that Charlotte would stay inside. It was a powerful looking grizzly that padded territorially in Jason's direction. He couldn't say why it had come, but that wasn't important. It _was _important that Charlotte stayed inside while he either scared it away or killed it, he wasn't sure which was the best course of action. The bear chose for him.

It gave a warning growl and stood on its hind legs. It was much taller than Jason, close to the eight foot mark, but Jason was hardly intimidated by size.

It was a short fight, but by no means tame. It was a male, territorial, and determined to kill or die. I think we can all guess what happened next, but I'll spare your imaginations the burden.

His first reaction was to use the axe already in a power position. The bear, however, saw this coming, and beat back his arm with a massive paw. Jason, however, saw this coming, and took what was likely to be his only advantage, burying his hunting knife in the animal's neck. It didn't die without a fight, thrashing and slashing at Jason's face and neck. He managed to parry most of its attempts, but all it needed was one lucky shot to destroy one very important piece of plastic.

Oddly enough, he didn't acknowledge this. It wouldn't have helped the situation, it only would have given the dying bear the opening it would need. Jason had to finish this, and soon the bear lay dead in a heap.

To think that if Charlotte had been chopping wood still... She would have been if her shoulder hadn't flared up. And it wouldn't have flared up if Jason hadn't used it like a stress ball the night before. Thinking of all the implications made him dizzy.

Now as he observed the carcass at his feet he suddenly felt naked. Only when he remembered that Charlotte was inside and could not see his face did the incomprehensible panic dull. Carefully, he crouched down on his haunches to pick up his faithful mask; there was a great gash through the middle, severing it almost completely and entirely beyond repair. It was warped and absolutely destroyed and he was sitting there without covering, completely vulnerable to elements and eyes. Because of this he stayed completely still so he could think of a solution as quickly and rationally as he could before Charlotte came back out.

In moments of extreme stress, such as life or death situations (this might as well have been one for Jason), one finds that their mind is clear as still water and complicated concepts simply conceptualize. The mind will answer most questions if one is able to relax and wait for an answer. Like an animated thinking machine, you simply feed it a question and wait. If one is able to keep the mind in this productive state then a solution or an escape plan will surely appear in no time.

Charlotte was racing to and from her linen closet. She couldn't just let him torture himself like this. "Jason?" Charlotte called from the door, a hand over her eyes. "I'm not looking, I promise. You can use this if you want." Jason strained a look over his shoulder and saw that Lotte was indeed not looking. He didn't know if he wanted to take the pillow case she was offering or go look for a new mask. But he wasn't ready to leave yet, so he decided to use the case for now. Stepping slowly and carefully so she could hear his heavy footfalls, he approached her and took the pillow case. "Let me know when I can look, okay?"

Quickly, he cut out a little eye hole and threw it over his head. He tapped her shoulder when it was secure. "Is that okay?" she asked. Jason nodded shallowly. It was better than okay. It smelled like her. But that's not what he told her.

_For now, at least._

Charlotte was a little disconcerted with only being able to see one of his eyes. He seemed so much more distant now and she felt immediately uncomfortable. He looked to her like some cheap cliche pulled out of an equally cheap slasher film, or like a cultish character in a comic book. Almost instantly he noticed her feelings shift into darker territory and tilted his head in his accustomed mode of questioning.

Charlotte pursed her lips hesitantly and looked to the stomped-on ground. "... I see little enough of your face as it is. Isn't it weird for you with just the one eye hole?" He shook his head. "But it's so flimsy. I could just..." For lack of words she demonstrated her meaning by tugging it askew. Jason fixed it, a playful look in his eye. Charlotte chewed the grin off her face. "See?" She couldn't see it, but she knew beyond a reasonable doubt that Jason was smiling too. His eyes were the brightest she'd ever seen.

_Yes, I see._

It couldn't be helped. "Not anymore you can't," she giggled and made a run for it. For the moment, Jason had to take the time to realign the case before he could locate Lotte, who was running to the dock. Jason hopped the deck railing and cut the chase short, coming up behind her and picking her up around the middle. She let out a delighted shriek, the likes of which he had heard before but were never the kind offered him. The sound bent him to throw Lotte in the lake: something he would never think to do in normal circumstances. Lotte bobbed in the water, shaking the sopping hair from her face.

"You have to help me out now," she reproached playfully, offering up both her hands. Jason pulled her straight out of the water, his nonchalant strength more than apparent. He pushed a flank of hair from her face; she smiled achingly.

She had another dream that night.

She felt like a hollow observer, watching from her own eyes, but not in tune with herself. She wanted to feel fear, at least, she felt like she should, but she couldn't. All she felt was a shadow that wasn't hers. Without her approval her line of vision shifted to an incorporeal figure approaching her in what looked like battle garments and a great sword. The figure quickened its pace to a degree that made Charlotte extremely uncomfortable. She ran where her feet would take her, but they didn't seem to be cooperating and took her right into a corner.

The soldier-figure slowed its step menacingly and stepped into a pool of light. What she had thought was a helmet and great sword turned out to be a blank pillowcase and machete. A horrible shiver wormed up her spine as Jason raised his weapon. She pushed back against the wall with all her might and it wouldn't budge, but this didn't deter her. She screamed and wordlessly pleaded for mercy but he couldn't see her. Even if he wanted to see who he was hunting, he couldn't because the case over his head was unscathed and almost eerily pristine. He looked like some otherworldly executioner.

Jason was, as per usual, watching Charlotte sleep through her bedroom window. She was moving around a lot and had tossed and turned her sheets to the ground. She refused, however, to relinquish her pillow, which she clutched desperately.

This was not normal. Charlotte was a very calm sleeper, but tonight her face was pained and she shivered under a blanket of sweat. When her mouth fell slack in a silent scream, Jason forgot about keeping a low profile. Charlotte tended to leave her door unlocked now because Jason was always close by and she trusted him more than she trusted a deadbolt. This being the case, Jason felt he had the right to enter her home at will.

When he was close enough to hear her strained breath he realized that she was trying to say something. However, given the turmoil folding her brow he could assume that it was nothing good and that the only option was to wake her up. It was better that he could spare her a nightmare where he could.

Sometimes fate is kind and throws a nice surprise your way, like the sun coming out from behind a gray cloud at the exact moment your favourite song comes on the radio. But fate is just a romantic word for probability, and probability is not concerned with whatever meaning you assign it. So sometimes fate can be cruel without meaning to. It just so happened to be that Jason woke her at the crescendo of her nightmare, causing it to bleed into her waking mind.

She screamed in the back of her throat, her eyes open to the maximum. Her companion pillow was cast away like a large spider. It didn't matter that she could _see _the hurt and concern pouring out of his one visible eye because all she focused on was the inexpressive mask, the pillow case she had given him. It's lack of human shape, it's blankness that was so much more surreal than the hockey mask. Jason's hand curled back like a burned flower.

Her skin leaked cold sweat as her brain began functioning normally again; she took in the full sight of Jason, who had woken her from the nightmare in which he was the predator. Her fear-frozen flesh began to thaw as she came back fully into reality. Jason's presence was shrinking from her bedside and she tried to speak. Only a whimper was audible, one which preyed on every insecurity present in the room. Her eyes became accustomed to the darkness but she still couldn't see because of the pooling tears.

Though it pained him deeply to even hold eye contact, he held it in the hopes that Charlotte would regain her senses and explain what had happened. The whole truth was that he was afraid to leave her presence with the last thing she said to him a scream. Jason had plenty experience translating those. He craved reassurance, specifically from Charlotte, whose words meant something to him.

She sobbed once, very softly and began to speak. "Come back Jason... I didn't mean to – I was having a nightmare..." Her nerves infused with steel in order to tell him his role in it. It wasn't enough to keep her voice from breaking. "You were in it." Her eyes fell to her hands, limply cupping air. Jason was motionless, suffocating in the immediate past.

As she told him of her dream he felt such grief over the pain, imaginary or otherwise, that he had caused her. He didn't care that it was only a dream, or that no harm had been done, or that she was only telling him because she trusted him. For an intense moment, he hated himself.

This would be the part where he kissed her and made it all better, but that wasn't going to happen no matter how much he wanted it to.

_I'm sorry._

She looked horrified that he would say this. "What are you apologizing for, Jason? Don't! You didn't _do_ anything, I'm just..."

_Are you afraid of me?_

She looked intensely conflicted, causing another pang of guilt in Jason's heart, which was lodged securely in his windpipe. "I want to say no. You know that. I'm just being silly..." He shook his head furiously and pulled her into a fresh hug. She couldn't care less that he was holding her too tight because she was returning the comforting pressure with as much force as she had. She felt completely secure.

Now more than ever, Charlotte wanted to see his face. She wanted to see more than just an eye or two. It wasn't enough anymore, but that was a line she refused to cross. So instead she held him like the world was ending and allowed his overwhelming presence to banish her shadow. In their secure embrace Jasons' pillow case came askew so all he could see was cloth, but what did he need sight for when Lotte was all around him?

When they broke the embrace (much later) Charlotte bit her lip and fixed the pillow case so he could see properly. Jason tried to decide if fear or gratitude was the more prevalent emotion in her wet eyes. He found that he couldn't. It terrified him to an entirely unthinkable extreme.

If ever Charlotte wanted to sever their ties completely, Jason had no doubt that he would go insane from loneliness. He couldn't even remember what he _did _before he started watching her. It was as if she was infused with his personality now; he couldn't think of a single thing that existed before she did.

_thoughts? if its any incentive, the next chapter will have murders_

_xoxo_


	7. Riders On The Storm

_Kyuubi123, Inkoholic4U, Porrie13, Keskron, dawn444, Raditz, The Unmarked Trail, Kagome Monia and Akuma Neko, SayMyGoodbye, Ajestice , CivilBlood13, Dance Elle Dance, and my dear anon reviewers, thank you kindly. _

_Ajestice, that is such high praise i still haven't stopped blushing._

_this is the second-last planned chapter. in the unlikely event that inspiration strikes me i will add to this story before releasing the final chapter. but i have loose ends to tie._

_i think im deliberately stalling. i know its been an unreasonably long time between updates but i will be very sad when this story ends, and the end is coming. not any time soon, seeing how long it took me to finish this chapter, but expect it. and dont expect any more afterwards._

**The Doors – Riders On The Storm**

The four of them looked like they were caught in some post-punk depression.

Each of them wore a unique expression somewhere between ambivalence and loathing. Their clothes and carriage reflected this, drawing a sharp and slightly ironic contrast to the jubilant light poking holes through the canopy of freshly-grown leaves over-head.

Amy punched her boyfriend on the shoulder, registering complaint with the park regulations. "Twelve o'clock quiet time? Is this place run by fun Nazis or what?" She exhaled violently and crushed her cheap cigarette on a tree. Jordan, Amy's meek lover, took the playful abuse lightly, like he did with everything. He was blind to Amy's faults. He was blind to everyone's faults.

The most destructive of the motley crew took it upon himself to antagonize the second most destructive. "If they were _fun _Nazis there wouldn't _be_ a curfew. Silly girl, how did you get out of my kitchen?" His name was Xavier and despite his abrasive nature and very high opinion of himself, he complemented the two other personalities.

"Shit on my feet, Xavier." Amy's scowl grew heavier and she lit a new cigarette. They walked for a while longer down the path and things started getting familiar. Jordan produced a map of the campground which Amy promptly snatched from him. "Look at all the places we're _not _allowed to go! It's half the fucking lake!"

Xavier jumped down from the tree he had been climbing, his opinion at the ready. "Who cares? If it's off-limits, you know what _that _means? No people there."

Jordan smiled and it brightened his whole face. "But us."

"There's no curfew there, either." The fourth member of the group had said nothing until this point, and it was only after these word left his mouth that he thought of how stupid and unnecessary his social contribution had been. Luckily and sadly, no one payed him any mind. The only reason Zach agreed to go on this trip was because Xavier wanted someone to torment while the couple was coupling. No, that wasn't the whole truth. Xavier agreed on his brother's behalf, like he always did. When he was in Xavier's company, Zach was very much the Teller to his Penn.

When they were kids they used to have real fun together. Then Xavier had turned fourteen and grown up much quicker than he should have, causing Zach to develop a bit of fear towards the prospect of maturing. He didn't want to grow up wrong and sometimes he felt like growing up at all was too much of a risk so he trapped himself in the mentality of the sad and lonely child that he was.

It was decided that they would forgo the traditional campsite and move to the other end of the lake, where it lacked the guidelines they resented so much. Their boisterous voices carried over the majority of the lake as they deposited their belongings in a heap at their campsite. They cursed liberally at the sky when it began to rain on them for only a moment before they forgot about it entirely. Soon after the cheap vodka had been opened and ingested the group split.

Xavier hauled his brother up and prodded him down the path. Much as he would love to stay and watch the movements of Amy's pert ass from the shadows, the rumours shrouding the forest were all too much temptation for one deviant, and his passive companion.

Amy and Jordan stumbled down the hill into the wilds, becoming more light-hearted when they knew they were alone. The only thing they could hear above the rain was each others breathing. When they came to a fallen tree Jordan gave his girlfriend a boost and she hauled him up after her. They walked along the shore for a few long moments loosely holding hands when they decided this was as good a place as any to spend some quality time together.

Half spoken questions to gauge their comfort and pleasure; this was the only time they really communicated. Everything else was small talk in comparison. Amy had a hard time expressing herself because she thought it made her weak, and because Jordan cared for her so much he would always open his emotional gates first, so Amy wouldn't feel so exposed. She appreciated that, though she never said so.

If the noise they were making couldn't lead Jason straight to them, the trail of dark clothing would do just as well. He approached from the left, rather than directly above them, rage rushing through his blood at the filthy sounds they were making, defiling his home like they had nothing else in the world to do. They heard nothing but their intertwining moans and the increasingly less rhythmic squelch of mud beneath them. Amy realized the presence of the massive figure too late. Jason thrust his machete down through the both of them, feeling his fury and disgust dissipate with each bloody gurgle.

He stomped past the bleeding corpses to slosh his machete clean in the lake. After holstering the blade, he carried the corpses up the hill and unceremoniously piled them in their tent and fell silent once again.

Jason had two more vermin to hunt.

Something wasn't right about the forest. Zach didn't feel welcome. The fear felt as if he had swallowed sulphuric acid. But he blamed it on his older brother (partially who the blame belonged to) and followed him further while it burned through his guts. He didn't know where they were going but Xavier seemed to have a purpose; he was practically bounding off the trees to get wherever he was going. Zach didn't want to ask but he did anyway. "Where are you going?" You, he said, as if he wasn't there himself. "The camp?"

"Nah, fuck the camp. You know how many stupid teenagers had that same idea tonight? It'll be crawling with 'em. Places like that always are." At least there was some comfort hidden in his brother's sentiment; Zach wanted very much to avoid running into any other human beings this evening, as he was barely breathing in his own skin. So they took a sharp right turn down the path. Weathered, arrow-shaped signs nailed to the trees they passed had destinations written on them and the trails leading to those places soon came and went as the brothers trekked on through the increasingly wild condition of the surrounding foliage. Finally they passed through the remains of a shredded fence gate with little concern and were faced with an old white house. At least the house was a colour that must have been white in a previous century. The rain began to sputter like an old engine and soon puttered out entirely.

Xavier was all too excited to hunt for treasure is the dilapidated building. He raced ahead and called from the doorway, "Come on, little bro! Where's your sense of adventure?"

"It's not in there!" Despite the avid protest, Xavier went inside and Zach lost his nerve. He followed his brother, every step felt heavier than the last. He felt impossibly rotten about this, but he didn't have the words or the intent to explain this to Xavier.

Zach meandered into the living room and, feeling ill, lay down on the couch. Dust puffed up like a sigh around him. It would be dark soon. He didn't know where his brother was, but they weren't alone long enough for Xavier to spark a cigarette.

It was that time again when the pantry began running dry that Charlotte hopped in her truck and raced the ugly clouds to town. They were ominous but inactive for the time being so she stepped into high gear, not wanting to drive home through the woods in the sodden dark. The forecast was rain all week and without supplies there was no other choice but to try and beat the rain.

On her way to buy groceries she passed (unconsciously slowing) a sports supply store. She parked.

A lengthy, heated internal monologue steamed up the truck for more than a few minutes. It was absurd to think that anyone living in town had gotten close enough to Jason to see that he wore a goalie mask, let alone done that and lived. So she was fairly confident that buying one was inconspicuous enough, she could always say it was for a niece or nephew if asked. Though she didn't think it would come to that, she still practised her answers.

No questions were asked. No uncomfortable expression. The cashier smiled pleasantly, Charlotte tried to mirror that innocent minded look. She felt like a teenager buying alcohol with a fake ID.

The weather, being in a constant state of identity crisis, had looked to be lightening up. Some of the clouds had made way for the odd ray of sunlight, but that was all over very quickly. The rain started unmercifully, progressed to biblical within minutes and stayed that way.

Charlotte was a little worried because there were more than a few dirt roads she had to drive on to get back home. Slugging through miles of mud in the dark didn't hold a position of honour in the grand list of things she wanted to do.

A buoyant old woman noticed Charlotte's cheek-chewing silence and approached her. "Would you like something warm to drink? This rain isn't going to let up for at least an hour."

"That's so sweet of you, thank you. My name's Charlotte."

"Carol. Come upstairs. Make yourself comfortable and I'll put the kettle on." Charlotte followed her up the very vocal staircase through a cozy sitting room and into the kitchen. All the appliances were ancient but obviously in perfect working order. She sat in one of the yellow Naugahyde chairs. "Is Linden tea alright?"

"Yes, fine, thank you."

"How long have you lived here?" Charlotte wasn't surprised by the question. Living in this town was the main topic of conversation for those who lived in the town.

"Coming up on seven years now."

Carol gave her a smile reserved for children. "That's not very long. What do you make of it?"

"I love it," she said with a solemn smile, cradling the cup of tea. "I used to live in New York city and every year I spent there feels like a week in comparison. Everything's so slow and easy here."

They spoke of small matters until Charlotte could contain herself no longer. "Have you heard of-" However she lost her nerve, but stopped herself too late.

"Curiosity _did _kill the cat, you know," Carol rebuked lightly. She had been questioned in this way more times than she could count.

Charlotte looked at her hands somewhat sheepishly. "Still... What... _is_ he?" Suddenly the question seemed vile.

Her companion shrugged sadly, as if weighed down by possible answers. "There's no way to know for sure. Jason... some of the stories are fifty years old, and compared even to three or four years ago he hasn't changed. I don't believe in ghosts, but I'm not sure if I should change my mind." She smiled at Charlotte, who couldn't be comforted by the kindness. "You're young and you've only heard stories. I've lived here eighty-four years. I've been witness to every shift in this town since Camp Crystal Lake opened. I'm not sure I would be able to explain... Well, you wouldn't want to hear ancient gossip like that anyway."

"I _do,_" Charlotte insisted.

She paused and studied her. "Have you ever seen him?" she asked with gentle concern.

"No," she answered far too quickly, amending her suspicious answer by blurting out in the same hurry, "At least I don't think so. Sometimes I can see a figure on the other side of the lake, but they're too far away to make out." This was not a lie. At least, not entirely. Charlotte knew that Jason occasionally watched her from a distance, but she didn't understand why. She knew also beyond a reasonable doubt that he enjoyed her company, so why he spent nearly equal amounts of time both close by and far away yet always aware of her mystified her senses. It was maddening, sometimes, trying to understand him.

"What were they doing?"

"Just standing there. When I looked again they were gone." This was not a lie either. "He just lives in the forest, doesn't he? He's never come into town?"

"No. Not for a long time. But he always goes home. I don't think he would know how to survive anywhere else."

"He has to eat something." A wave of guilt crashed over her head when she remembered the brand new hockey mask sitting in her car. She felt intensely nasty for talking about Jason in such a disingenuous way.

Carol remained oblivious to the raging uncertainty sitting across the table from her. "He doesn't show up for any potlucks but I'm sure he manages to feed himself. Plenty lives in the woods," Charlotte knew. "My guess is that he hunts. And hunts well. He was a very good marksman in camp, I hear, in archery. But he's been dead all these years, who knows if he could have lost the skill?"

_He's not dead, _she thought with surreal clarity. _I've felt his heartbeat._

Soon after the sun came out from behind the clouds just long enough to sink behind the trees. It would be dark soon. She thanked Carol for the tea and hospitality and drove away.

It was thoroughly night-time when she pulled into her long driveway. The moment she pulled the keys out of the ignition, out of nowhere an animal slammed down on the hood of her truck. Charlotte screamed and the young man, not an a animal after all, screamed too. "Help – please – get me out of here, please!"

In some state of lucid shock she exited the truck to speak with him. But she found she could say nothing, her voice was nowhere to be found. Aimlessly, she stumbled in the direction of her house, staring at the boy.

"WAIT! You gotta help me, don't leave – that big motherfucker's killed my brother- cut him right the fuck in _half_! - my friends too probably – gonna kill me..." He stopped to cough, doubling over for a moment. "You know who I'm talking about – I'm talking about Jason fucking Voorhees is out there, and he's gonna kill us both."

Charlotte knew immediately that no matter how hard her conscience pleaded she couldn't interfere. Even _if _she could prevent this murder they should have known better. Jason hadn't killed _her_ for trespassing. She had reasoned as well as begged for her life and it worked. She had been respectful and above all she knew better than to be skulking around the most notorious area in Crystal Lake doing no less than exactly what everyone was warned not to do. It wasn't just folklore in this town, if you went camping you got a map detailing the areas of the township where you were not supposed to go _ever. _And if you owned property by the lake you damn well knew where you were not welcome. All this being said, even if Jason wasn't standing directly in her line of sight wielding his blood drenched machete, Charlotte would still not have had a mind to interfere.

"Come on! Your car is still warm, please!"

"There's nothing I can do," she said hopelessly, as if _she _were the one about to die. The boy was so desperately frightened that he wasn't aware Charlotte was staring right past him.

"Why?" he all but yelled in her face before he finally understood. Charlotte put a hand over her mouth to stifle a whimper as he turned and swore at what he saw. "_Shit_, please! Oh fuck don't kill me!" As Jason approached slow and methodical, the boy did something abhorrent. In his conniption fit, he thrust Charlotte into the line of fire, as if to give himself a second chance. But he was making a very unwelcome sacrifice. "Don't kill me!" he begged again as he sprinted and stumbled and ultimately made no progress toward escape. As if Jason would let him.

Time slowed to a frame by frame rate for Charlotte, unwillingly volunteered for the position of bait. She watched the scene around her in rapt funeral amazement as she hurtled toward Jason. Of course he wouldn't hurt her, but Charlotte was still dumbstruck at the reflex reactions of the boy who not one minute ago was begging her for help. He was ready to throw anyone under the bus to save his still-doomed self, even temporarily. Almost as soon as she was steadied by a pair of obscenely strong hands she was being set aside; Jason held her a moment too long. The message in his only visible eye clearly meant _don't look_.

She didn't, and the next second Jason disappeared past her shoulder and she still didn't look.

Jason couldn't remember a time where he had ever wanted to end a life so badly, but then, he was in a rage and wasn't in the mood for thinking. Three long strides brought him close enough to use his machete; he left a deep gash across the boy's hip and he crumbled. Hearing the boy's final curses and weak bargains made Charlotte whimper, and even though it put an ache somewhere around his navel, Jason felt justified entirely as he haphazardly chopped the dying boy to pieces.

The merciless hacking behind her was deafening. She fell to her knees, cradling her head and sobbing uncontrollably. When Jason came to his senses all he listened for were Charlotte's cries; he dropped his machete into the sodden dirt and almost flew to her side. He felt certain it was not the first time she had cried like this.

What bothered him the most was that there existed people who felt _nothing _towards his Lotte. So much nothing, in fact, they could throw her into the path of danger without a second thought. He couldn't fathom it. How could anyone not love her? She should be protected from danger, not used to bait it.

After a long while Jason let go of her and stood up. Charlotte looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks glistening. "W-will you come back?" Her first concern.

_Go inside. Leave your door unlocked. _Given the circumstances he thought it would be wise to remind her.

Charlotte didn't waste her remaining energy with questions so she only nodded. After an excruciating moment, Jason forced his feet to move in the opposite direction. He wanted nothing more than to hold her until she smiled again, and to forget about the bodies and their abandoned campsite. But he overcame this urge by reminding himself the sooner he dealt with the leavings, the more uninterrupted time he would have with her. This was the only bargain he was able to make with himself.

New spring grass is always so unsure of itself. It holds onto its wintry yellow as if it has spent so much time blanketed by quiet snow that it is afraid that the warmth the sun provides will be snatched away as soon as given. It refuses to hold on to hope. But by May it has forgotten the cold, embraced the sun again, and regained its jewel green. It's an unfortunate place for a funeral pyre, but it was the only option.

He piled the bodies into their tent, soaked them in stolen kerosene and set them all ablaze. The hybrid smoke of flesh and synthetics was cloying.

He sniffed his clothes and knew they reeked of death and smoke. So he walked carefully down to the edge of the lake and splashed water over his face and arms. When he was satisfied he took four huge steps back in the direction of land, and aligned his path back to Lotte's cabin.

Her door was unlocked still, he was relieved to find. A dark red stain was soaked into the carpet. Charlotte noticed Jason tense up and told him in an even tone, "I spilled some wine." She was buried under heaps of blankets next to a roaring fire for reasons Jason could not understand. He put a hand on her forehead.

Jason's hand was cool on her frying skin. The fire was dying down. She couldn't care less how much she sweat. No shower was long enough. Instead she sniffed back her remaining emotion and allowed herself to take solace. He smelled clean, like lake water.

Charlotte felt like a mess. She wanted to cry, but instead she asked Jason something that had been on her mind recently. "Do you ever wonder why it is we can smell the seasons changing?" He had no response, but she wasn't looking for one. Then she remembered.

"I have something for you in my truck," she told him hesitantly. "Is..."

_There's nothing outside._

She nodded and hoisted herself up and outside. Her eyes were fixed on the truck, terrified that she might see a bloodstain or a body part. Luckily she reached the truck without seeing anything unpleasant. Jason had followed her outside. When she turned back to face him holding the clean new mask for him he was speechless.

Charlotte shrugged awkwardly and explained, "Well you can't walk around with just a pillow case on your head." Carefully he took the mask in both his hands. "Wait." She blurted out before he put it on. She had to do something first because she knew she would not get this chance again.

Through the fabric of the pillow case she gently touched his cheek, expecting and finding gnarled tissue beneath. Jason didn't react much but she trod very carefully, regardless. It wasn't exactly the equivalent of revealing what he took so much care to hide, but it _was_ something weighted heavy with meaning. Charlotte didn't know what to make of the experience and it was over before she could. Her hand withdrew without intention, but it was for the best; she could tell Jason was getting antsy.

Then she threw her arms around his neck and Jason warmly returned the hug, lifting her clean off the ground.

_remember kids, every time you read without reviewing an angel gets a yeast infection_

_xoxo_


End file.
